


The Finer Points of Gardening (or, How to Truly Appreciate the Great Outdoors)

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, Post War, Romance, The Quidditch Pitch: Eternity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-28
Updated: 2007-12-28
Packaged: 2018-10-27 08:17:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10805292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Um.  Harry helps his wife out in the garden.





	The Finer Points of Gardening (or, How to Truly Appreciate the Great Outdoors)

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

(originally posted July 3, 2006)

 

  
  
“Are you going to help me, or are you planning to just lie around on your arse all day?”  
  
Harry removed the cap he had used to cover his eyes from the sun to look up at the rather annoyed face of his wife staring down at him.  He knew it was a bad idea, that he shouldn’t do it, but he did it anyway.  He grinned at her.  
  
It worked.  Her eyebrows knit together, her lips pursed, her face got a little pink  and her hands shifted immediately to her hips.  “And <i>what</i> exactly is so funny?” she asked, her voice practically dripping with irritation as she stared down at him, his sloppy t-shirt and shorts and lazy lounging on the overgrown grass seeming to push her over the edge.  “Because <i>I </i>certainly don’t see anything to laugh at,” she continued, her voice rising more and more dramatically with each sentence she spoke.  “<i>I </i>see a garden that needs some serious de-gnoming. <i> I </i>see a swing set that needs some repairs if I’m going to let my child on it.<i>  I </i>see a lawn that needed mowing last week.  But I certainly <i>don’t </i>see anything to be grinning at like some sort of idiot.”  
  
Harry just nodded at Hermione, the smile quickly slipping off his face.  “Hmmm.  Yes. You make some good points. You know what?  I think that <i>I </i>can see a bit up your skirt from where I’m lying.”  
  
At that, she gave an exasperated bit of a squeal, kicked him rather hard, and then stalked off to the vegetable garden with the sounds of his laughter chasing her.  He continued to chuckle as he propped his head up on one hand (and rubbed his side—which definitely smarted from her kick—with the other) and watched her attack the garden gnomes with a vengeance.  He couldn’t help but grin at the sight of her in a pretty, summery cotton dress, flinging gnomes over the fence with the intensity of a shot put champion.  It was too bad she hated playing Quidditch, he thought.  If she could harness that energy during a match, she could have been a great Beater during pick-up games.  
  
At the thought of his little bookworm of a wife wielding a Beater bat, he suddenly broke out into loud guffaws of laughter.  Which only caused Hermione to pause in mid-fling and look back at him with a scowl on her face, before she suddenly shrieked and dropped the gnome (which had apparently bit her hand and was now running for its life from Crookshanks).  
  
Harry quickly jumped up and ran over to her, grabbing her hand to look at the bite.  “It’s nothing, Harry,” she quickly reassured him, though the crankiness was still more than evident in her voice.    
  
He could see she was right, that the skin hadn’t been broken and it would probably not even bruise.  “Hmmm,” he murmured as he continued to hold her hand.  “Maybe this could make it a little better anyways?” he asked as he held her hand to his lips, and kissed the still-tender spot as he watched her face.  
  
God, he loved to look at her.  He had to admit that sometimes he liked to tease her just to see the rather remarkable play of emotions run over her face.  At the moment, he gave a tiny smile against her hand as he saw that her natural tenderness was battling against her almost-overwhelming  annoyance with him.  He turned her hand over and began to kiss her palm, letting his tongue press against her warm skin.  He grinned when he saw her eyes flutter and heard the slightest of sighs escape her lips.  
  
“Harry…” she moaned softly as he began to wind kisses up along her forearm.  
  
“I love it when you say my name like that,” he muttered as he turned her around, pulling her back tightly against his chest, and dropping hot kisses against her neck as he ran his hands over her stomach and breasts.  
  
“But… the garden… and the lawn…”  
  
“Hermione,” he whispered against her neck, “the kids are with the twins and won’t be back until <i>tomorrow</i>.  Are you really telling me that you want to waste this on <i>gnomes</i>?”  
  
She twisted around in his arms and looked into his eyes.  He gulped and held his breath.  He knew that look.  She was <i>considering</i>.  Anything could be the result of <i>that </i>look; sweaty love-making or sweaty weed-pulling were both equal possibilities.  
  
And so he was more than a little relieved when she pulled his head down and gave him one of her amazing kisses.  As much as he loved looking at her, he most definitely loved kissing her.  She seemed to suck the air right out of him, he would get so lightheaded.  And after being together for almost ten years he still got that knot in his stomach that was there the first time he had ever kissed her.  
  
Not one to squander a golden opportunity, he pulled her up onto him, and she quickly wrapped her legs around his waist, his hands supporting her ass and back.  She hadn’t stopped kissing him and he groaned into her mouth.  She giggled against his lips, a sound he loved all the more because she so rarely made it.  “Get me into our bed,” she whispered, taking a moment to run her tongue along the outer rim of his ear, eliciting another groan from his throat.    
  
No one needed to tell him anything that important twice.  He quickly, and with a great deal of finesse, turned towards the house.  Of course, he would have to ruefully admit that finesse <i>normally</i> implied doing some thing with skill and/or style.  And while he had made a fine start of it, it deteriorated rather quickly.  He found that he had trouble seeing over Hermione’s shoulder and that maybe he <i>had</i> let the lawn get a little out of hand, as he almost tripped when he inadvertently stepped into a gnome’s burrow.  And his suave attempts at being the big, male ravisher of his wife?  They were almost undone when Hermione urgently moaned a guttural “Harry, hurry up… I want you in me <i>now</i>!” into his ear, making him break into a strange sort of lumbering run in his excitement.  
  
Alas, if only he had been paying a <i>little</i> more attention as he passed the swing set.  Because then it could have been avoided.  The whole, “tripping-over-a-stack-of-‘My First Broomsticks’-thing.”  And of course, the whole “tumbling-to-the-ground-with-a-squealing- armful-of-horny-wife-thing”  really didn’t help matters much.  
  
“OOOOFFF!” Harry grunted, falling into the sandbox with Hermione landing pretty much on top of him.  
  
“OWWW!” Hermione exclaimed, rubbing the part of her thigh that hadn’t had the advantage of using her husband as a mattress.  “What the bloody…” she groused, digging under her leg to find whatever objectionable object she had partially fallen on.  “A-ha!” she exclaimed, pulling out the offender, which turned out to be a purple-clad Dumbledore Doll.  
  
“<i>One can never have enough socks!</i>” the doll exclaimed, raised high above the couple sprawled in the sand, as if Hermione were brandishing it as some sort of powerful talisman.  
  
Harry and Hermione just turned their faces towards one another—no easy task considering their positions—and burst into laughter, just as the doll exclaimed “<i>Nitwit, blubber, oddment, tweak!</i>”  
  
“Well,” Harry began with a slight wince as Hermione gradually moved off of him to lay next to him in the sand, “there go my plans for a first-class seduction.” He smiled as he looked into her eyes, happy to see that impish gleam that he knew was reserved solely for him and their children.  
  
“Oh, I don’t know,” Hermione responded, finally sitting up and brushing some sand off of her arms.  “A couple of set-backs shouldn’t get in one’s way when an important goal is on the line,” she continued, her lips pulled into a sly smirk.  
  
“Ahh,” Harry sighed as he waggled his eyebrows at her. “I love a woman with a one-track mind.”  
  
Hermione just smiled and climbed on top of him, straddling his hips as she sat above him, gently brushing some sand off of his face and taking his glasses off.  “Well,” she replied as she leaned down to drop soft kisses on his forehead and cheeks. “I suppose such single-mindedness <i>can</i> be seen as a virtue.” She gave him one last, heavy-lidded stare before swooping down onto his mouth, teasing his lips and tongue until he was breathless and practically bucking up against her hips.  
      
When she finally pulled away, he just stared at her above him, the blue sky behind her, the  sun streaming around her face.  He really was the luckiest man in the world.   A huge smile broke out on his face.  “You know I love you, right?” he asked, his heart thumping like he was still that gawky teenaged boy who had first discovered that he had fallen in love with his best friend.   
  
“Hmm…” she murmured with a slow smile as she unbuttoned the top of her sundress and  let its straps fall down from her shoulders. “So,” she whispered, letting her hand run under his t-shirt, “are you going to help me?  Or are you just going to lie on your arse all day?”  
      
Harry laughed.  And then he got off his arse.

 

The End.

 


End file.
